I didn’t have this type of dream last night, but mom, you have to stop coming into my dreams the way you do. It is always about how you weren’t really dead. You come back, you’re trying to be my mom, you put the effort in, in my dreams.
It isn’t fair. You need to stop. You need to stop.
You’re dead.
You’re dead.
You’re dead.

Why can’t my mind understand that you aren’t coming back?
Why do I have to have these dreams where I feel like you are really, truly back. Doing all the things you said you’d do before you killed yourself?
Did you though?

It feels like I’m having to rip these words from the very matter of my brain. It is painful and I’m unsure what to write because I don’t know what I want to say. Part of me doesn’t want to say a damn thing. I am too sore, too empty, too lonely… but those are all beautiful reasons to write, despite how bad those feelings are.

Not only does my brain need to be coaxed and smacked and ripped, so does my heart because it doesn’t know where it wants to go either. I think I find something it wants, but then… it doesn’t want it anymore.

I’m left completely unsatisfied, eternally. No love, no commitment; just emptiness, pain, grief.

Oh grief, so much grief…

And I feel like I’m bearing it all alone.

Thoughts of whether or not I believe in a higher power, or if I’ll force myself to for the illusion of comfort. I miss ritual, I miss stability.

I desire a person, but so it seems no person desires me, or at least hasn’t spoken up about it.

So, here I start again, putting words down, recording them for people to see.

I took the train home today; it was a nice ride, but after packing and the errands I ran, all I wanted was to just be home. My train finally came into Edmonds around 9:40 and my Daddy was there to pick me up. I was so happy to be with him again… but now that I think about it, I’ve yet to embrace him! We had to pick up my luggage and put it in the car, then we went to the grocery store.

I came home to the condo to some familiar things. The place was in disarray, the cat box needed to be cleaned, but I was greeted by the best things: my cats. I’ve missed them terribly. I then sat and talked with my dad about grades and how things have been and about the gifts I got for my grandmother. We have to get ready and clean the condo over the next couple of days because my grandfather is arriving from CA probably Friday evening. I haven’t seen him in over a year, so I’m very excited to be seeing him again!

Man, just… home, it’s nice. I refer to both Mountlake Terrace and Bellingham as home. Wherever I am not currently at, is what I then call home. It’s weird, feeling at home in two places… I never really experienced that before. Mom’s house had always been Mom’s house.. never a place I considered to be home for me..

I’m rambling, but I am not sure what else to say. I need to start writing again. More poetry, or prose, or just simple observations. Also, I want to get into some art. Maybe zentangles or sketching again? I’m not very good at art.. maybe just a coloring book!

Hello.
I have had this blog since 2010, and that’s crazy that this place has still survived. Most of the writings on here are very old, perhaps I will update with more poetry soon, but for now I’m going to do journal entries here.
More often than not I will probably forget to post anything here for days, weeks, or even months at a time.
No one follows it so there are no expectations, so that’s all right!
If you’re reading this, thank you, hope you like what you’ve read here and perhaps will come back when more of what you’re looking for (poetry?) is posted.